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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22897609">In Which the Future Has Come and Gone and Now We Are No-One</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostdowry/pseuds/ghostdowry'>ghostdowry</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Androids, Gen, Post-Apocalypse, warnings will be updated as needed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:08:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>401</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22897609</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostdowry/pseuds/ghostdowry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>*abandoned for now. may be picked up again as a rainy day project.<br/>In an unknown place and time, an android with no name wakes up. A plant has grown into his core, and shows no signs of leaving. It's been hundreds of years since he was awake and, together with the plant that now inhabits his body, he searches for a purpose in this world.</p>
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<a name="section0001"><h2>In Which the Future Has Come and Gone and Now We Are No-One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> And I was in the darkness, so darkness was inside me. I was dead, so death was my heart, and I was growing a small plant inside my body and through it, and that doesn’t have a poetic way to say it, but my body was in the middle of being fortified and destroyed at the same time.<br/>
 Was that poetry? Possibly. For me it’s just the facts.<br/>
 The plant doesn’t have a name, but that’s ok, because I don’t either. I think the plant is smart, because sometimes I hear a voice like the rushing and whispering of wind and my core flutters like a leaf. This may be due to the fact that there are leaves inside me now, but it also may be a sensation of the plant’s voice. My voice is choppy and dull, but I have a vague idea that it’s a bit piercing and uncomfortable when compared to a natural creature’s. I am a mechanical creature. I will never be natural. But just maybe, I will be natural someday, what with the vines all across my chest. It’s taken my arm, you know.<br/>
 I woke up when it hit my core. It told me, in its wispy voice, that it was sorry, I think. I didn’t know what to say to that. I had been asleep for so long. <em>How long?</em> I asked. <br/>
 <em>Forever,</em> it answered. <em>You’ve been sleeping forever. You have been asleep for as long as I’ve been alive.</em><br/>
 <em>And how long have you been alive?</em> I thought-asked.<br/>
 <em>Hundreds of summers,</em> it answered.<br/>
 I did the calculations in my head. Summers are an increment of time. Four seasons and one summer to a year, which means I was asleep for hundreds of years. That didn’t sound right. Plants have no processing cores, so that proves I may never know how long I was out cold. And then something else hits me.<br/>
 I have been asleep for hundreds of years? How many hundreds? How much has changed since the date of my creation? I can’t remember being born, waking up, being taken care of. In the factory? When was that? How long ago was I cleaned and set out into the world? I think the framework for those memories still exist, but the content is gone entirely. I’m not scared, am I? Is there a name for this emotion? The name cannot be ‘fear’.</p>
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